


You're A Voice in My Head (But I Don't Mind)

by charmedward



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Deaf Clint Barton, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Most characters are just mentioned, bucky struggles with expresso machines, clint has hearing aids, sparring sessions, thank Odin for curry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 05:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1766680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmedward/pseuds/charmedward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There was a delivery for you earlier.” JARVIS tries again.</p>
<p>Clint frowns; the doorman hadn’t said anything when he’d walked into the building earlier.</p>
<p>“I’m not expecting anything.”</p>
<p>“I ordered it, sir.”</p>
<p>That's unexpected. Did JARVIS have access to his bank account? Clint doesn’t think so. He drops his cloth on the gleaming coffee table and takes the bait.</p>
<p>“It better be pizza.”</p>
<p>It isn’t pizza. </p>
<p>---</p>
<p>A battle leaves Clint’s hearing aids damaged and Tony offers to upgrade them for him. Installing JARVIS is a natural decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're A Voice in My Head (But I Don't Mind)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nerakrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerakrose/gifts).



> For nerakrose, who wanted more JARVIS/Clint in the fandom and to whom I owe a favour. Hope you like it!

It’s 5:30AM when Clint’s pillow vibrates. Groaning, he rolls onto his back and turns off his alarm without opening his eyes. For a moment he just lies there, hating the wakeup call that is slightly earlier than he’s used to. Even with his eyes closed he can see the sun streaming in through the windows of his apartment and he wonders why he even bothers with blinds if they don’t keep the sun out.

Once he’s talked himself into it, Clint opens his eyes and swings his legs out of bed, the rest of him following mechanically. He switches on autopilot as he dresses, brushes his teeth and has breakfast. The routine is the same as ever minus the shower he was saving for later. Today he’s got an early morning sparring session booked with Steve at Avengers Tower and since Clint wasn’t living there he had had to haul his ass out of bed earlier than he would have liked. Still, he didn’t get to spar often and Steve had insisted that Clint train more than just his aim. He was actually looking forward to it.  


“Honey, I’m home.” Clint jokes as he puts his hearing aids in for the day.  


“Good morning, Agent Barton.” comes the smooth reply of JARVIS’s voice.  


Clint rolls his eyes and grabs his quiver on his way to the door. He might find time to use the shooting range after his session with Steve if no one needed him. “Told you not to call me that, buddy.”  


“My apologies, sir. I’ll delete that title at once.”  


Clint isn’t sure if JARVIS is messing with him or not, but he grins all the same and heads out his front door. Heading for the elevator, he groans in dismay when he sees a sign in block capitals that says:  


ELEVATOR BROKEN. DO NOT USE.  


How did he not know the elevator was broken? He _owned the building_ for Christ’s sake. Grumbling to himself, the master archer takes the stairs.  


*  


When he makes it across town and to Avengers tower he’s in a horrible mood. Someone on the bus had collided with him when the driver slammed the breaks on and lukewarm coffee had burst free of a paper cup and drenched him. Luckily, his archery equipment was untouched in its quiver.  


“Shall I tell Captain Rogers that you wish to change first, sir?” JARVIS asks in his ear.  


Declining the offer, Clint strides into the gym with a frown. It deepens when he sees Steve sitting cross-legged on a mat with a sketchbook and pencil in hand. He’s drawing something from memory, judging by how he isn’t looking up at any visual stimuli.  


“Is this art class or something?” Clint scowls, propping his quiver up by the door and shrugging off his hoodie.  


Steve jumps slightly, looking up with a sheepish grin, “Hey. Sorry, you weren’t here yet and I wanted to draw Bruce and Bucky’s last yoga session before I forgot-”  


“Well I’m here now.” Clint cuts him off.  


He settles into a defensive stance on the mat and brings his fists up to his face. Steve looks a little shocked at Clint’s behaviour but says nothing as he puts the book and pencil out of reach. Copying Clint’s stance, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a mouth guard. Clint puts his own in at the same time, having all but forgotten it until he saw Steve’s. Really he knew the super solider had no need for the protection, but Clint needed it and Steve wasn’t going to make him feel weak by not joining in. He hated knowing that Steve wouldn’t be using his full strength today, even with a fellow avenger. He hated feeling like he couldn’t keep up.  


“Ready?” Steve inquires, already starting to circle.  


Nodding, Clint lunges.  


Afterwards, when Steve is helping him up for the fourth time, Clint spits out his slightly bloody mouth guard and holds his hands up. He isn’t sure how long they’ve been trading blows for but it feels like hours. Sweat pours down his back, his forehead, making him feel like a river trapped inside a human casing. There’ll be bruises soon enough too; enough to make him look like a creepy human- Dalmatian hybrid. He doesn’t care though. He’s smiling.  


“Penny for your thoughts?” Steve asks. “You didn’t seem very focused when we began.”  


He throws a water bottle at Clint, who catches it and chugs down a third before replying, “It’s nothing. Bad day I guess.”  


That doesn’t seem to satisfy Steve though. He raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms like a disapproving parent. Already he’s caught his breath but Clint is still winded from their sparring. It’s enough to make a man jealous.  


“I’m just not feeling so great with these new hearing aids.” he confesses, “Maybe I shouldn’t have let Stark tinker with them. It’s not like he has any experience with this kind of thing.”  


He frowns at the bottle in his hands. Opposite him, Steve releases a pent up sigh and runs a hand through his messy hair. Blond strands break free of the styling gel barely controlling them. He’s a poster boy for sexy, not that he turns Clint’s head.  


“You let Tony remake them to give them better protection, right? After they got damaged in that battle, you were-” Steve quickly shuts his mouth before he can say “helpless” or “vulnerable” or any of the words Clint hates being associated with.  


Plucking at his sweat-and-coffee stained shirt, Clint looks anywhere but Steve’s eyes.  


That had been one of the worst fights of Clint’s life. Not because the team was outnumbered or because their adversary had been bullshit levels of powerful, but because some freak gadget had fried Clint’s hearing aids halfway into the fight. He had been unable to distinguish anything his team mates had yelled at him, either face to face or over coms. Thanks to SHIELD tech, his hearing aids doubled as coms – something that had quickly become an issue when they were damaged. He had gotten in the way multiple times and was nearly killed at one point. It wasn’t an experience he wanted to ever repeat.  


When Tony had come to him after the battle he had suggested (through Natasha using sign language) that he develop a stronger hearing aid capable of keeping up with superheroes. Clint had wanted to argue that he wasn’t a superhero; he was an ex-circus kid who spent his days fighting petty crime in New York now that SHIELD was more or less over. But Natasha had been there, looking at him like she understood what it was to have to keep up with the super humans. He had consented.  


“Look Cap, it’s nothing. They just feel a bit weird in my ears still. I gotta give it time and trust in Stark.” Clint pulls a face; did he really just say that? “Anyway, he installed JARVIS in them for me, so how bad can it be?”  


“I’m flattered, sir.” JARVIS says in his ear.  


Clint finally glances at Steve’s face and sees him gazing out of the window on his left. He nods at Clint to show he’s listening, but then he shakes his head. A fond smile flickers onto his face.  


"What is it with your generation and cynicism, Hawkeye?" he says, and Clint’s not entirely sure the reply fits the conversation.  


"Hey that's not fair!” Clint rushes to defend his people, “The other day I walked in on Barnes saying it was the end of the world because he'd broken the expresso machine. Oh yeah, Stark's out for blood over that." he adds.  


"That's not cynicism," says Steve with a dismissive wave, "That's just a man needing his coffee. And I'll pay for that."  


Snorting, Clint throws the water bottle back at Steve. Together they head back over to the gym’s door and Clint grabs his quiver. Target practise can wait. He isn’t entirely sure he can draw the full weight of the bow without his arms trembling and that’s the last thing he needs today.  


“I’ll see you up there.” Clint says to Steve and the other nods and leaves.  


Clint might not live in the tower, but Steve did. He had the luxury of going up a few floors and using his own shower with his own towels. Clint had to settle for the communal ones on this floor. Rubbing out a kink in his shoulder, Clint crosses the gym floor once again and heads to the door to the men’s locker room.  


He’s lost in thought, stowing his quiver and shoes in a cupboard when JARVIS interrupts.  


“I have Miss Bishop calling for you, sir.” the AI informs him.  


Clint really misses having a mobile. “If she’s not calling to say she’s in New York with my dog, she can wait.”  


“I’ll tell her you’ll call her back later.” JARVIS replies smoothly.  


Pulling off his shirt, Clint hums in approval. He didn’t really have anything against Kate for leaving with Lucky, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. His apartment was too quiet without them both.  


“No peaking, buddy.” Clint says, removing his trousers.  


JARVIS doesn’t say anything for a moment and Clint wonders if there’s CCTV in the men’s locker room. Probably. Clint wonders if Tony had spent ages going over the footage and trying to work out if he had the biggest dick on the team. Probably. Clint huffs a laugh, _he_ is the biggest dick.  


“I can assure you, I take no pleasure in it, sir.” JARVIS finally replies.  


Well-meaning or not, that was a little creepy. Not to mention offensive.  


“Hey, hey! You may have seen all of Stark’s sex tapes but don’t let that put you off the male form in all its might.”  


Clint’s argument is somewhat diminished when he stumbles taking off a sock and hops around the tiled floor on one leg. Grumbling, he shoves the last of his clothing into the cupboard and takes his hearing aids out. He knows JARVIS can still talk to him from the walls or wherever it was he hid in the tower but without his hearing aids Clint wouldn’t be able to hear him.  


Taking a clean towel from a rail, he goes to shower.  


*  


After a time, Clint starts to adjust to both his new hearing aid and JARVIS’ voice in his ear. It’s nice. Clint has always been a solitary man so the sudden change to having a constant presence (if an artificial one) is unsettling to begin with. He doesn’t say anything to give it away, but he thinks JARVIS must pick up on this because he starts to go out of his way to accommodate the grumpy archer.  


The first time JARVIS takes a bit of initiative to benefit Clint, he doesn’t really register it as an act of friendship. He’s out on an evening run, having found tonight’s TV shows insufferable. His breath ghosts white in front of him, dancing before him even as he runs into it. It may be a dry night but it’s freezing. Clint is only in jogging bottoms and a cotton shirt and he is beginning to regret leaving his hoodie back at the apartment. Goosebumps cover his bare arms and the fine hairs on his arm stand to attention as they try to trap heat close to his skin. He hasn’t yet been running long enough to work up a sweat and the knowledge that he should be warming up any moment now is all that convinces him to keep running. Besides, he hasn’t run for a while and he could use a break from everything.  


“Hey JARVIS,” Clint says, not out of breath yet, “Put my workout playlist on, would you?”  


He’s in a relatively safe part of the city and reckons it couldn’t hurt to favour music over general hearing for a little bit. One of his favourite parts of his hearing aids (which he had insisted Tony kept on his reimagining of the devices) was that he could connect to his iPod through them. Right now his music player is securely strapped to his forearm, mimicking the uncomfortable tightness of a blood pressure test. At least he didn’t have any headphone wires to bother with.  


“Actually, sir I’ve made an alternative for you, if you’re interested? I made it based on your music library, your most played and the music you deemed worthy enough to buy legally.”  


Clint huffs a laugh and pretends not to hear the last part, “You made me a mix tape? Are you old enough to remember mix tapes?”  


The reply is curt, “My age is irrelevant when I have access to the internet, sir. Any information before my installation is there for me to consume.”  


A car skids by a little too close to Clint and he frowns. Veering off down a side alley, he pulls a face at the stench of cat piss and rotten food. He vaults a low chain fence and comes up panting.  


“Alright alright, ’m sorry. Music, maestro!”  


Dodging a dumpster and flying around a corner, Clint’s expression changes to a satisfied grin when the music starts up and he recognises it as a song from one of his favourite bands.  


To his own theme music, Clint darts through the city. He lets the music overcome him, guiding him over walls, up buildings and across roof tops. Somehow he always ends up here, seeing the city from above even as he leaps to the next structure. He never looks down.  


*  


The next time JARVIS reaches out to Clint, the other shows his appreciation more.  


He’s sprawled out on a couch in the common room of Avengers tower. He’s not sure, but he thinks he could save his earnings for a year and not be able to afford this couch. It’s precisely that thought that motivates him to rest his socked feet on the arm. Letting out a content sigh, the archer relaxes into the mould of the leather. A tiny smile finds its way to his mouth when he realises the leather remembers his imprint.  


Somewhere off in the corner of the room he can hear smooth jazz seeping out of a docked iPod. It’s nearly enough to send him off to sleep right there. Clint is getting good at falling asleep anywhere and this couch is far from the worst place he’s crashed in the past. He thinks after a long day doing paperwork covering his last mission he deserves a little kip. No one would notice. Steve and Tony’s voices are carrying through to the room from the kitchen (where they are arguing over expresso machines) but no one else seems to be around.  


His eyelids droop.  


“Я просто хочу сказать, может быть, вы должны заказать некоторое время для Вашего юбилея.”  


Apparently he hasn’t earnt his sleep yet.  


Natasha and Bucky are in the hallway outside, Clint can tell it’s them from Natasha’s voice and Bucky’s tread. Friend or foe, Clint liked to be able to recognise someone from their footsteps. He opens his eyes and cranes his head over the back of the couch but the door is pushed too and he can’t see anything. Even with his hearing aids, he would have preferred to have them close enough to lip read.  


“И если Нью-Йорк получает напали пока нас не будет Стив будет-” Bucky’s tone is tired and reluctant.  


The natural curiously of a spy is overwhelming. While Clint knows the pair are using Russian get a bit of privacy, he can’t help but wonder about secrets that his teammates would keep from the rest of them. He thinks a Russian mutiny is unlikely, but that doesn’t quell the desire of knowledge.  


Glaring up at the ceiling he says, “I wish I knew what they were saying.”  


He thinks he whispers it, so he’s pretty surprised that JARVIS’ microphone picks it up and he replies, “I could download a universal translator to your hearing aid, sir? It would take a few hours if you wanted accurate translations for every possible language, but it’s feasible.”  


His eyebrows shoot up and he scratches the scruff trying to claim his chin in facial hair. Bucky and Natasha have carried on now, voices drifting away, “Yeah. Yeah do that, JARVIS. It could come in handy on missions too.”  


He adds the last part just to dispel the guilty twinge in his gut.  


“Certainly sir. I’ll start the download immediately.”  


“Yeah. Thanks, JARVIS.”  


*  


He gets a chance to test out his new advantage the week after when he walks into the kitchen. It’s the middle of the afternoon and if anyone were to ask, Clint would deny just having woken up. After an attack on his apartment by as yet uncaught criminals, it had been decided that Clint would be staying on his floor in the Avengers tower for the time being. He couldn’t complain really, it made the trip to work a lot shorter in the mornings.  


Yawning, Clint nods absentmindedly at Bucky as sees the other over by the expresso machine. He doesn’t comment on Bucky’s messy hair or sleep-crusted eyes and there’s an unspoken agreement as Bucky doesn’t mention his.  


“Where’s everyone?” Clint slurs, voice rough from disuse.  


Bucky shrugs and pulls a mug out of a cupboard, “Natalia and Parker are at that club of theirs, Steve and Sam are doing a veteran’s fundraiser that Tony organised. Not sure about the others.”  


Reaching into the fridge, Clint passes Bucky the milk. “Why aren’t you at the vet thing?”  


A dark look crosses Bucky’s face as he gets a second mug out for Clint. Clint says nothing about the black H on it. He has to ask Tony where all the Avengers merchandise is coming from and why he hasn’t seen a dime of it.  


“I didn’t get an invite.”  


From the way he says it, Clint knows it wasn’t Steve or Sam who didn’t invite their fellow veteran. Clint has a lot of respect for Sam and not just because he lived with two ninety-something super soldiers. Tony had taken to calling them “bird bros” as of late, something that both men protested, but weakly. Secretly they had been hanging out a lot since Steve had dragged Sam to the tower. They have more in common than the bird jokes made at their expense and it was nice to befriend someone who knew what an Xbox was.  


“ _Shit!_ ” Bucky cries, pressing the wrong button on the machine and getting scalding hot liquid everywhere.  


Clint is nudging him out the way and taking over before he even realises that Bucky hadn’t said that in English.  


“ _Can’t fucking make a drink by myself. What the hell, Barnes?_ ” Bucky growls in angry Russian.  


It’s disorienting at first. Bucky’s lips are moving but it’s JARVIS’ voice that he can hear, translating smoothly only a fraction of a second behind. Clint finds himself staring.  


Bucky curses again and JARVIS’ tone is neutral as he spouts profanity directly into Clint’s ear. It shouldn’t bother him, but the cursing is so quiet and secretive. Clint isn’t used to someone whispering curses in his ear so early in the morning. He’s enjoying it a bit too much.  


“What?” Bucky asks, in English now.  


Something must have shown on Clint’s face. Busying himself with making their drinks, Clint just shrugs and plays it off as his hearing aids not catching Bucky’s words. It’s a common enough phrase from him that Bucky doesn’t push.  


He passes Bucky his drink, grabs a protein bar and darts out of the kitchen. His trousers are a little on the tight side now.  


“Gotta admit, that was better than I thought it’d be, buddy.” Clint says to JARVIS.  


He hopes he doesn’t imagine the pleased humming-like sound that comes from the AI.  


*  


He’s not been sleeping for several days now. A clean-up operation after their latest fight had kept his hands full and when he actually had a moment to sleep he was having nightmares. Luckily he was back in his own apartment where none of the Avengers could hear him, but it was little comfort.  


He dreamt Loki was controlling him again, only he was conscious this time. In his dreams he crept through Avengers tower and killed every one of his friends in their sleep. The dream would blur and he’d been at the new SHIELD HQ, arms taunt as he loosed arrow after arrow into the face of co-workers. The dream always ended with him faced with Kate. She’d beg him to snap out of it. Her eyes would be scared in a way they would never be in real life. He woke up as she screamed.  


After the third nightmare he stops trying to sleep. JARVIS would be in his ear, nagging him like Jiminy Cricket, telling him sleep was necessary for optimal performance as if Clint were a machine in need of a recharge. He ignores him each time. He swaps his coffee mug for the coffee pot.  


“Sir really, I do think you should try and rest.”  


Clint continues polishing his TV – _polishing his TV for god’s sake,_ he was running out of things to do – and says nothing. He doesn’t need to be told again how long it’s been since he last slept. Will power and stubbornness had gotten him this far, though he doubts he can beat the AI in an argument right now.  


For a little while longer there’s silence in the apartment and Clint moves over to polish the coffee table. Is that stain from coffee? He hopes so.  


“There was a delivery for you earlier.” JARVIS tries again.  


Clint frowns; the doorman hadn’t said anything when he’d walked into the building earlier.  


“I’m not expecting anything.”  


“I ordered it, sir.”  


That's unexpected. Did JARVIS have access to his bank account? Clint doesn’t think so. He drops his cloth on the gleaming coffee table and takes the bait.  
“

It better be pizza.”  


It isn’t pizza. JARVIS directs Clint to the downstairs lobby where sure enough there’s a small package waiting for him in his mailbox. It’s only a few square inches in total, wrapped in brown paper and it rattles when Clint shakes it.  


“Sleeping pills, sir. Mr Stark regularly takes them for his own nightmares. I thought they’d help.” JARVIS sounds softer than usual.  


“That’s,” Clint unwraps the pills and holds them tight in his palm. He can’t bring himself to say “that’s pretty sweet of you” so he swallows and heads back up to his bed. If they’re good enough for Tony Stark, they’re good enough for him.  


“Thanks, JARVIS.”  


The elevator doors shut (Clint silently decides to give his maintenance staff a raise for fixing it so quickly) and Clint punches in his floor number. He doesn’t stop smiling the whole way back to his bedroom.  


“One last thing sir, Mr Banner called for you when you were in the shower. He left a voicemail asking that you stop drawing things on his laboratory whiteboard-”  


“Hold up,” Clint interrupts, shouldering open his bedroom door and tugging his shirt off, “first I gotta sleep for more hours than I have fingers, then we'll talk."  


Clint pops the pills into his mouth, stumbles back into the kitchen and downs them with a glass of water. He figures they’ll take a few minutes to kick in but he goes back to his bedroom anyway. Throwing himself down on the bed, he groans in relief as his muscles relax on the neglected mattress.  


“Night, buddy.” he mumbles.  


“Goodnight, sir. Pleasant dreams.” comes the soothing reply.  


By the time Clint’s hearing aids are out and on the bedside table, he’s barely conscious. Before he falls into a dreamless sleep, he imagines a smile in JARVIS’ tone. The thought sends him off with a matching quirk of the lips.  


*  


After a time, Clint had grown used to having two voices in his head (the second being his own, of course). They had reached a point where Clint was comfortable talking to JARVIS in public even though JARVIS couldn’t be heard by anyone else in their surroundings. If he got a weird look, Clint could either ignore it or tap his ear as if to signal he were on the phone. It worked every time. That wasn’t to say that he went out of his way to look like a schizophrenic though.  


When Natasha sets him up with a neighbour of one of her many safe houses, Clint had deliberately picked a table near the back of the restaurant. His date hasn’t arrived yet so he seats himself somewhere as far from the rest of the room as possible. Before the waitress had even arrived he’d shared three jokes and a pun with JARVIS, laughing quietly in their solitude. He orders a drink and glances down the menu as he waits.  


“What’s velouté?” Clint finds himself asking absently.  


“A type of soup or sauce, sir. French in origin.”  


Nodding as though JARVIS can see him, Clint sets the menu down. “If the French made it, it’s good enough for me.”  


His stomach rumbles and he sighs, hoping his date will show up soon. Natasha had said this person (damn it, what was their gender again?) worked in an animal rescue centre. Clint wonders if they’re held up at work.  


He kills time by eavesdropping on a Spanish couple a few tables over and joking with JARVIS. The waitress gives him pitying looks when she passes on her way to the kitchen but he shrugs it off. He’s been stood up before.  


“Guess I better get the bill.” he says after a while, half to himself and half to JARVIS.  


“You haven’t eaten yet, sir. May I remind you that you skipped lunch earlier after Mr Stark ate your sandwich?”  


“That was Stark?! I knew it.” Clint shakes his head and drops a bill on the table, “It’s fine, JARVIS. I’ll grab takeout on the walk back. I’m not new to this.”  


Waving at his waitress, Clint crosses the floor and makes his way to the front door. JARVIS is chattering in his ear, manipulating his tone to something faster and possibly his take on angry?  


“-shouldn’t have to resort to last minute curries from the neighbourhood takeout-”  


Clint tunes it out and starts whistling as he walks, waiting. He steps onto the sidewalk and begin his trek home, thinking nothing of his miserable date. He hadn’t expected it to go well anyway. Maybe Cap was right about the cynicism thing? He tries not to think about it.  


“Are you done yet?” Clint chuckles when JARVIS pauses.  


“There’s no need to laugh at me, sir. I’m on your side.”  


The petulant tone he takes makes Clint chuckle more, shoulders rising and falling quickly.  


“I know you are, buddy. It’s just…you don’t need to get angry for me. Shit happens. I’m hardly dating material anyway.”  


He crosses the street and spies his favourite takeout a few hundred yards away. Thank Thor’s dad for small miracles.  


His stomach is rumbling again when JARVIS says, “I disagree.”  


Tandoori chicken wafts down the sidewalk towards Clint and the archer all but runs towards the blessed smell. He makes a noncommittal sound for JARVIS to continue.  


“I happen to hold you in very high regards, sir. You would make an excellent partner.” JARVIS doesn’t sound angry like he had a moment ago, but neither has he returned to his usual intonation.  


That slows Clint’s steps and quickens his thought process. “You’re just saying that as a friend, buddy.”  


It’s not the smartest thing he could have said but he was feeling a bit light headed all of a sudden. He hadn’t realised he was so hungry.  


“Not at all.” JARVIS protests, “I’ve come to know you intimately over the past few months, sir and I can conclude that, should you be interested, we would be compatible.”  


Clint has stopped walking now, close enough to the takeout shop that he can pretend to be reading the menu in their window. His mouth is very dry. He’d need a large drink.  


“You asking me out, buddy?”  


He wants to follow up with a witty one liner but he can’t think of anything. Everything that pops into his head sounds too mean or sarcastic and he can’t say that. Not to JARVIS. He sees himself in the reflection of the shop window and imagines a man standing beside him, answering him.  


“I thought that was implied.”  


Laughing, Clint shakes his head, “You’ve sure got a mouth on you.” he stops a moment when he realises this isn’t literally true. Huh. That could cause a problem or two down the line. “Sure. Hell, why not? I work with a god and a couple of frozen world war two heroes, I think I can handle a date with a robot.”  


The reply he gets is almost fond, “Technically, sir, I’m not a robot.”  


Clint laughs harder and shoves the takeout door open. He knows what he wants.  


*  


When Clint tells Tony about his relationship with JARVIS (because he figures he has to) Tony rather surprisingly goes very mother hen on him. He makes Clint promise to treat JARVIS (“who’s practically my firstborn, feather brain”) with all the respect he deserves. He also begs not to know if they do anything too freaky because hey, there’s a limit to how sex obsessed even Tony Stark is.  


That being said, on Clint and JARVIS’ six month anniversary Tony drops off a large box at the apartment. Inside, there’s a life sized, mechanical humanoid. He’s exactly what Clint envisioned, down to the smart suit crisp on his body. An instruction letter in the box says that JARVIS can be downloaded into the robot. If they don’t like it the process can be reversed. Clint gets to it immediately, not wasting a second in being able to call JARVIS his “Robo-boyfriend. Roboyfriend?”.  


JARVIS, once he’s installed and has gotten to grips with his new body, makes Clint pay for that comment with a smile on his shiny new face.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations for Natasha and Bucky:  
> “I'm just saying, maybe you should book some time off for your anniversary.”  
> “And if New York gets attacked while we're away Steve will-”
> 
>    
> Natasha and Peter’s club will be explained in another fic
> 
> Bruce and Bucky’s last yoga session is a reference to my other work 'Didn’t You Love Me?'
> 
> If I've made any mistakes in regards to Clint's hearing, please let me know and I'll correct it!


End file.
